Yesterday I licked my hangover wounds most of the day, but around 4 in the afternoon I decided to bicycle to the Rockaways.
AP, my landlord, cautioned that a passing tropical depression might have churned the waves into a maelsturm of riptides and shore dumpers. I checked the surf report. The ocean looked calm and I hurried downstairs planning on biking to Fort Tilden.
It was 4:30.
I cut through Prospect Park and then followed the various bike path through Brooklyn to the Gil Hodges Bridge spanning the Jamaica inlet.
It was 5:40
The ride was longer than I had hoped.
Swimming wasn’t permitted after 6pm.
A few couples were walking across the sand.
Sunset was at 7:17
A cloud hid the sun.
At the beach I tugged off my skirt and ran into the ocean.
Only a few people were in the water.
Four.
After Labor Day New Yorkers abandoned the Rockaways.
I plunged underneath a towering wave to avoid getting crushed by shore break.
After my swim I bicycled toward the 116th Street subway station.
I wasn’t paying attention to where I was and crashed into a railing before the Riis Park bath houses.
I was thrown to the concrete over the handlebars.
Crunch.
But nothing was broken.
Only bloodied.
I was a lucky man.
I wish I was lucky everyday.
